


[C] Through and Thorough

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bondage, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Broken Bones, Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Other, Proceed with caution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex with Sentient Animals, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), Vore but not quite, all the way through
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21707566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale wonders just why he hasn't seen Crowley recently, and the answer to his question is not a pleasant one. While clearly not himself, a snake Crowley uses Aziraphale's body for his own pleasure, his own gain. He just can't seem to get deep enough. Can't seem to find what he wants. Aziraphale couldn't have ever fathomed the pain of just what Crowley intends to do to him.Warning: Graphic Depictions of Rape
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 200





	[C] Through and Thorough

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. Commissioner preferred to stay anonymous.
> 
> I would heed the warnings; this isn't exactly what I'd call a happy fun fic. There is definite comfort at the end, as I think we're all a little weak for that.

Aziraphale hadn’t seen Crowley in weeks. Nearly a month, if he’d been counting. He certainly wasn’t counting: though it would have been exactly three weeks, five days, eleven hours, and fifteen minutes, if he had been. The seconds he was a bit iffy on, but everything else, he was sure about. And every passing minute was just another minute that had Aziraphale  _ worrying _ about Crowley. Since they’d survived Armageddon, there hadn’t been more than a day that passed between visitations. Aziraphale believed he had every right to be worried.

It was especially worrying when he found that Crowley’s flat didn’t just open for him, as it had in the past. Crowley usually knew when Aziraphale was stopping by and just let him right in through the front door. As it were, Aziraphale had to dig through his pockets to realize that he hadn’t even  _ brought _ his keys; he was so used to Crowley just opening up the door. After a quick miracle, Aziraphale jammed his little, brass key into the door and heard the lock click.

Crowley’s flat was unnaturally hot and unnaturally humid. Uncharacteristically, too, of what Aziraphale knew of the way Crowley kept his apartment. This wasn’t any environment for his plants to live in. Still, it was certainly the environment that they  _ would _ be living in, for however long Crowley would leave it like this. Aziraphale shrugged off his shoes in the foyer and figured it wasn’t his choice: the temperature that Crowley kept his flat.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out. He’d hung up his coat on an empty hook before stepping into the flat.

There came no response to Aziraphale’s call, so he continued walking through the flat. Crowley wasn’t in the kitchen. The kitchen rather looked like it hadn’t been used in days—weeks. Three weeks, five days, eleven hours, and twenty-three minutes, to be exact. It wasn’t as if this was unnatural; Crowley didn’t eat much, anyway. Aziraphale hadn’t been by the flat in sometime, either. Aziraphale just continued his walk.

It wasn’t until he reached the plant room that something looked out of place. There was a long stretch of dry, browning skin stretched out down the hallway. Snakeskin, to be exact. Now, Aziraphale wasn’t a fool; he knew that Crowley was a snake at heart, but this wasn’t something he’d ever seen before. This had to be Crowley’s skin, with the size of it, the length of it. He just hadn’t ever had the sort of inkling that Crowley actually  _ shed _ like a true snake. There wasn’t much like a true snake that Crowley actually did.

That was, however, when he was human. If he was truly a  _ snake, _ at the moment, then that would account for the environment in his flat. Snakes needed a certain environment to survive; a human Crowley could regulate his temperature, but a snake Crowley would fall prey to the basest biology of what he was. That meant shedding and cold blood.

A snake the size of Crowley shouldn’t be so difficult to find, and yet, it wasn’t until Aziraphale made his way to the open door of Crowley’s bedroom that he even noticed the slightest glint of Crowley’s scales. He was curled up in the corner of his room in a mass of shimmering black. Even though his eyes were bright wide and open, Crowley seemed to be asleep. He didn’t react, even when Aziraphale walked into his line of sight. He had to be sleeping, at least; human Crowley slept with his eyes closed, but snakes worked differently.

Aziraphale stepped forward, closer to Crowley. He almost dared reach a hand out to touch him, once he’d squatted beside the mass of his coils. But just before Aziraphale could reach him, Crowley seemed to wake up. His head picked off the mass of him, and Aziraphale recoiled his hand immediately. He wished, in the heat of it, that snakes could blink. It would be far less strange to look at Crowley if Crowley didn’t look at him like that—but it was the only face that a snake could make. Like he was looking at prey.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled. “I was afraid I wouldn’t find you. You’re looking well.”

Crowley didn’t respond. That had Aziraphale furrowing his brows, because Crowley  _ usually _ responded. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t talk like this. It would have made for a very difficult temptation if a snake Crowley couldn’t speak, anyway.

“Are you alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale tried, then. Perhaps Crowley had come down with something?

Still, there was no response. The only thing that Crowley did was  _ move.  _ He always moved in such a slow, sensual way when he was a snake. It wasn’t the first time Aziraphale had seen him like this. It wasn’t even the first time that Crowley had moved to coil himself around Aziraphale. They just usually  _ talked _ about it first.

Aziraphale didn’t start to struggle until Crowley’s coiling  _ tightened _ enough to pick him right up off the ground. He wasn’t eve deposited into the bed so much as he was just brought to it, still wrapped up tight in Crowley’s coils. Aziraphale’s arms were still free, and he used that to his advantage. This wasn’t right. Something was  _ wrong _ , and Crowley needed to stop it, now. Aziraphale struggled, pushed, and pulled on Crowley’s thick body, but nothing seemed to deter him.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out. “Stop this, this instant! This is absolutely—”

Aziraphale’s voice stopped the second his lips clamped shut. There was nothing holding his mouth, but he could  _ feel _ the magic. Demonic magic. Plastered right over his mouth so he couldn’t talk. If that wouldn’t set off every panic alarm in Aziraphale’s mind, nothing would. He struggled harder, then, his shouts muffled by the magic over his mouth.

This wasn’t Crowley. Crowley wouldn’t do this. But that  _ look _ in his eye said that this  _ was _ Crowley, and Aziraphale was going to have deal with that information in his own time. Crowley was looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and it was just as frightening as any prey would ever know.

Crowley wasn’t having this struggling, though. In the next second, Aziraphale’s hands had been wrenched above his head and held there by a yanking, burning force. Demonic magic always burned, just a little bit. They’d played with it before, and when Aziraphale asked for it, oh, he loved it. Now, it just felt like a cruel restraint, and he struggled to pull away from it. The chains had made themselves known around his arms, his wrists, curling into the headboard of the bed. The more that pulled, the more that it burned, and the more terrified that he grew. Crowley really wasn’t listening to him.

Crowley  _ really _ didn’t care.

It was like that look in Crowley’s eye was Crowley behind a wall, watching this take place. Aziraphale had to believe that; Crowley had always been so gentle with him in the past, this wasn’t something that he would do. Aziraphale  _ prayed _ that this wasn’t something Crowley would do. His Crowley wouldn’t ignore the way that he shouted and cried out behind his gag. He wouldn’t ignore the struggling ministrations of a desperate angel. Aziraphale wanted  _ out _ of this—Crowley had to care. He  _ had _ to.

And he didn’t.

Aziraphale tried, but there was nothing that he could do. Nowhere that he could go. He struggled, but Crowley still had wits enough about him to perform a more delicate miracle. When Aziraphale’s clothes disappeared, the tears started to well up in Aziraphale’s eyes. This  _ couldn’t _ be happening. He didn’t  _ want _ this. He loved Crowley; he thought Crowley loved him. If Crowley loved him, he would have stopped. He wouldn’t have even started. It wasn’t as if Aziraphale was averse to this sort of play, but even after their safe-word-turned-gesture, Crowley didn’t stop.

Crowley just coiled tighter in separate little coils around the fat of Aziraphale’s thighs. Normally, Aziraphale would have cried out and shuddered from the touch of Crowley’s tail like this. He would have been aching for it, dripping wet, and moaning. This time, Aziraphale’s cock hung limp between his thighs. This didn’t feel good. It wasn’t anything that Aziraphale wanted, but he could only struggle so hard before Crowley had had enough and tightened his restraints.

It felt like he was strung out on a rack, Aziraphale’s sudden pain. He was all but immobile, held up in Crowley’s coils. Even if his head was in the pillows, it wasn’t anything done out of kindness. It was just so Crowley could get at what he wanted, and Aziraphale knew exactly what he wanted. Crowley had presented himself in just the way that Aziraphale could watch the way his scales parted. His cocks popped right out, both hard and dripping in their slick.

Aziraphale’s tears started to fall down his cheeks when he saw that. Crowley didn’t even have a care for him. Crowley wasn’t even  _ looking _ at him for who he was, what they were. Aziraphale never wanted to think for a moment that he was nothing but a warm hole for Crowley, but that’s exactly how it was beginning to feel.

Under the strength of Crowley’s tail, Aziraphale was helpless but to spread his thighs out as far as Crowley wanted him to. The stretch was almost painful, but it was enough for the mass of this  _ snake _ —because that’s what it was, this wasn’t Crowley; it couldn’t be—to slide right between Aziraphale’s thighs. The first of his cocks rubbed right up against the cleft of Aziraphale’s ass, and Aziraphale squeezed his eyes tight.

He had just enough mind to miracle himself open. Aziraphale didn’t even  _ want _ to enjoy this, not the way that it was, but he wasn’t about to let himself get hurt, either. If that meant a miracle to stretch his hole open and leave it dripping, then that’s what he had to do. It was the way Crowley always  _ liked _ it, if this were Crowley.

Crowley’s cock pushed into him without warning, and Aziraphale’s back arched. He threw his head back and tried to ignore the burn of it, the way that Crowley fucked into him with abandon. It hurt. It  _ stretched _ . Aziraphale cried out behind his gag with every forward, furious thrust. He tried to withstand it, but Crowley held him tightly in place. Crowley even used his tail to fuck Aziraphale down onto his cock. He couldn’t get away from every burst of burning pain, and Crowley would make sure that he met every thrust with faked enthusiasm.

The binding on his mouth even disappeared with the next thrust, Crowley seemingly unsatisfied with the silence in his room. Aziraphale cried out with his new freedom, tears flooding down his cheeks. Crowley’s scales slapped into his skin, biting at it with every movement, every slide against him. Crowley’s cock was thick inside of him, thicker than Aziraphale had ever taken—he should have prepared for it, but he didn’t  _ know _ . Every biting thrust just sent another strike of pain through him.

The worst part was the way his cock grew interested between his thighs. His body was betraying him, feeling  _ good _ every time Crowley’s cock brushed against his prostate. It wasn’t fair. It was horrid, disgusting—Aziraphale choked out a sob, then. Crowley wasn’t even  _ done _ . It had felt like hours, already, with the burn in his thighs, in his arse. Crowley just kept going. Kept fucking forward like it was the only way he would find his pleasure.

His second cock was pressed right up against Aziraphale’s arse, too. Aziraphale would have been happy for it to stay there, but Crowley was shifting between his thighs. Crowley rolled against him, pulling back just enough that he could get his second cock angled just right against Aziraphale’s cleft. Aziraphale’s cried out when Crowley started to thrust again.

Crowley split him right open on  _ both _ of his cocks, this time. Aziraphale’s body just opened for him, accepted him; no matter what Aziraphale did, he couldn’t get away from it. He couldn’t move far enough away to escape the burning thrusts; Crowley only held him tighter, made the bonds burn a little brighter. Aziraphale was  _ helpless _ , left there to just take every brutal, horrible thrust.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. “Please—please, stop!”

It was like Crowley hadn’t even heard him. It was like his shouts just turned Crowley on further, but no amount of slick would ever ease the path of his cocks through Aziraphale’s insides. It was like he was  _ relishing  _ in the pain that he provided, like a true demon would.

That had to be what was wrong. That had to be what was so terribly, horribly wrong. Aziraphale cried out again with every movement, but in between, he tried to gather himself. He tried to  _ think _ about this. This wasn’t Crowley. The whole thing smelled a bit too much like Hell.

“Crowley, please!” Aziraphale shouted. “You have to snap out of it! This isn’t—this isn’t you!”

Crowley didn’t seem to care. His movements redoubled, in fact. The roll of his body, which Aziraphale had once found so beautiful, now only served to fuck himself deeper into Aziraphale, as if that were possible. It was like he couldn’t get deep enough, and the speed of his thrusts only increased. Harder. Faster. The force of them was enough to break against the bonds that held Aziraphale in place, and every thrust shook Aziraphale’s body, the bed.

“Please, Crowley—” Aziraphale tried once more, but his voice was failing him.

Aziraphale went limp where he was. If there was nothing that he could do, at least he could just let Crowley finish and be done with him. Crowley seemed to be feeling good, anyway. He dropped his head down onto Aziraphale’s chest when his rhythm changed. Aziraphale’s body split right open on Crowley’s two cocks; it hurt. It hurt, and still, Crowley’s body undulating and writhing over Aziraphale’s cock was turning it into something entirely different.

Now it was just  _ horrid _ . Aziraphale was actually hard, now, feeling Crowley’s body move against the underside of his cock like that. He was even leaking against Crowley’s scales; it was  _ humiliating _ . All he could do was cry. Every thrust was just a reminder that Crowley was doing this to him. Crowley was  _ fucking _ him. Splitting him open with every, painful thrust. Crowley wasn’t even just fucking him; he was  _ enjoying _ it. Crowley was enjoying himself.

Aziraphale didn’t even have  _ words _ , now. Crowley’s thrusts only got faster, harder. Aziraphale was sure that he’d be bleeding by now. Even if he wasn’t, this wasn’t something he would ever forget. It would be etched into his mind, behind his eyelids, the  _ bliss _ on Crowley’s face as he fucked for his own pleasure, to  _ steal _ his pleasure right out of Aziraphale’s body. Just like a  _ real _ demon would. Fucking an angel. Breaking an angel. Tying an angel down and breaking them open.

Aziraphale wasn’t even Aziraphale. He was just an angel. Something for Crowley to conquer, and Crowley was doing a fabulous job of that.

It was when Crowley began to lose his rhythm that Aziraphale opened his eyes again. That was at least the Crowley he knew—Crowley who had stamina like anything, but always lost himself when his pleasure was building. Crowley looked entirely blissed-out, his mouth hanging open and his tongue darting out to taste the air. It no doubt smelled of sex and temptation; just like a demon would prefer. If there was the smell of blood and cum, well, it really was just the same thing.

Crowley came just a second later, with some inhuman sound that Aziraphale had never heard him make before. It was animalistic,  _ feral. _ Crowley came in thick, thick streams inside of Aziraphale, and it felt like it went on for ages. He emptied from both cocks, apparently having found such immense pleasure in forcing himself on Aziraphale that he wasn’t about to take his time getting off one at a time. No, he wanted to  _ fill _ Aziraphale right up.

When Crowley pulled out, Aziraphale whimpered. Everything hurt. Everything was sore. Everything stung with a rawness that he’d never felt before. He could relax, though. He could calm down. Crowley was finished. Crowley had come inside of him, filled him right up, and left Aziraphale an aching, dripping mess with his spend. That’s always where Crowley stopped.

But this wasn’t Crowley, Aziraphale reminded himself.

Even where Crowley uncoiled his tail, it wasn’t at all like he was finished. In fact, he pulled his head back down so he could tuck his snout right down between Aziraphale’s thighs. He ignored Aziraphale’s cock entirely, moved down past his balls, and started a lick of his tongue right over Aziraphale’s perineum. It wasn’t just to smell; it was to  _ taste _ . To see what he’d done to this angel. Crowley couldn’t resist the touch of his tongue over Aziraphale’s hole.

Aziraphale twitched and clenched underneath him, still too sore and too sensitive for this to happen. But Crowley’s bonds crept down over his body to hold his thighs wide open, to keep them still. Aziraphale wouldn’t even tremble when Crowley’s tongue dipped into him.  _ Tasting  _ himself. Smelling himself. The inside of Aziraphale. It would be the perfect place to leave his eggs, if Crowley had any. They’d certainly done play like that before, and Aziraphale wanted to remember it with  _ fondness _ , not with the dark trappings of whatever it was that had just happened.

Crowley’s tongue went deeper, and Aziraphale closed his eyes tighter. It  _ hurt, _ even if it was just Crowley’s tongue. There was no stretch, but he was licking and flicking over all the raw, flayed nerves that he’d left broken after his brutal fucking. The worst part of it would be is if his deep, deep exploration had him hard and aching again. Aziraphale didn’t think he could handle another thorough fucking, not like the one Crowley had just left him with.

Aziraphale tried to shift away, but he couldn’t move. Every passing second, Crowley just pushed further. His entire tongue was deep up inside of Aziraphale, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but  _ groan _ . He wanted it to feel good, now. It was the only thing that would save any of this, that Crowley had regained enough of himself to actually want to apologize and give Aziraphale the pleasure that he deserved for sitting through that. But that wasn’t  _ at all _ what Crowley was doing.

“Crowley—” Aziraphale really started to struggle now.

He felt a sudden stretch that certainly wasn’t on the tip of one of Crowley’s cocks. It was his  _ snout _ . As if his tongue was deep enough, Crowley had his entire face pressed up into the cleft of Aziraphale’s arse. The very tip of his mouth had split Aziraphale right back open. It wasn’t  _ horrid _ , but it pressed up into all of the broken, aching nerves. There were renewed tears at the edges of his eyes, and Aziraphale cried when the stretch got worse.

If it had been nothing more than Crowley’s snout inside of him, Aziraphale could have dealt with it. He could have closed his eyes and pretended that his Crowley was back to care about his pleasure, but Crowley kept pushing forward.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out. “Crowley, please! No! Stop!”

But Crowley wasn’t listening. Crowley didn’t  _ care _ . He was too wrapped up in his own world, his own  _ wants _ , that Aziraphale could have screamed loud enough for the whole of the world to hear him, and Crowley wouldn’t have stopped pushing forward.

Aziraphale screamed and writhed when Crowley pushed forward, but nothing would stop him now. Aziraphale couldn’t even move. He was stuck there as the stretch burned through his body; Crowley’s  _ head _ had gone right inside of him, and his body rejected it as best as it could. Aziraphale cried out and tried as he might to push back, to pull away, but nothing worked. He was  _ helpless _ . He was  _ helpless _ , and feeling Crowley slowly, arduously,  _ painfully _ push inside of him.

Crowley’s head wasn’t even the thickest part of his body. The stretch just kept coming, and Aziraphale screamed with it. His tears flowed freely; he cried, and he shouted, but it was worthless. Crowley kept coming. Pushing inside of him. He could feel the way Crowley was slithering, the way that his scales moved him along.  _ Inside  _ of Aziraphale. He pushed his way in like Aziraphale’s body was his to play with, his to own. He was going to map out the inside of it until there wasn’t a single bit of Aziraphale’s body that he hadn’t claimed.

Aziraphale would  _ break _ after this.

There was no end to the thick of Crowley, to the length of him. Aziraphale could feel every inch, every centimeter, that dipped inside of him. The pain had turned him numb, and he barely felt every new giant inch of stretch that his hole was forced to take. It was overshadowed by the feeling of Crowley’s arrow-head forcing its way through every winding, dark inch of inside of him. Stretching things that had no  _ business _ being stretched. Things that Aziraphale didn’t even know he had.

He could  _ see _ Crowley moving through him, coiling up inside of him. There was a bump forming in his stomach beyond the normal fat of it, and he could  _ still _ see a length of Crowley’s tail over the bed. It would be an endless sort of torture, he could tell. Aziraphale closed his eyes tightly so he didn’t have to see it, but God, he could feel it.

Every centimeter that Crowley had to coil up inside of him felt like the centimeter that would break him. He wouldn’t be able to take another second of this, but somehow, it kept coming. The bulge in his stomach was growing bigger, and every minute that passed was a painful, terrifying moment where another inch of Crowley disappeared inside of him.

Aziraphale hoped and prayed that he would eventually feel Crowley pulling back out, as if he’d finally gone deep enough to satiate his curiosity, but it just kept coming. More, and more, the bulge rumbling through Aziraphale’s body until Aziraphale could feel the stretch of Crowley’s head in places it should have  _ never _ been: like the pit of his stomach, pushing up through his esophagus. Crowley  _ did _ intend to remove himself, just not the way he’d come.

Panic started to rise in Aziraphale, but what could he do? Crowley’s demon magic had him firmly left in place, and Aziraphale didn’t even have a mind to think of how to escape this, now. He was so full of pain, of  _ Crowley _ that there was nothing he could do but cry and hope that it would be over soon. He  _ needed _ it to be over soon.

A whole new pain erupted as Crowley began his ascent; Aziraphale couldn’t even scream, anymore, as the weight progressed up his chest. It was like the weight of Crowley was crushing him from the inside out, and Crowley didn’t even seem to care. As if it couldn’t get any worse, Aziraphale could  _ feel _ the prod of Crowley’s cocks inside of him too, as if this pain and torture were just another thing to turn him on. It was sickening. Disgusting. And Aziraphale couldn’t even  _ scream _ .

He wanted to scream. He tried to scream. Crowley’s head pushed the way through the rest of Aziraphale’s insides and came to his throat, where the  _ size _ of him was too much. Aziraphale was sure that he would break. He could  _ feel _ the pressure on his corporation as Crowley pushed forward: there was a tear in his skin, a crack in his bones.

Aziraphale  _ sobbed  _ when his jaw shattered, but it was the only way that Crowley would ever make it out of him, like this. And he very much intended to make it out of Aziraphale in this exact fashion. His head was thick and wide, but it was the rest of him coming through that had Aziraphale terrified. Even with the bonds over his entire body, Aziraphale still trembled with his fear. Every sick  _ slide  _ of Crowley’s scales through his body.

When Aziraphale even dared open his eyes, he was met with a horrifying realization that Crowley’s head had dropped down to his chest, but the very tip of his tail was still draped on the bed. The whole of him wasn’t even  _ inside _ . The torture had only just begun.

It felt like hours that went by in a torturous, sinuous slide of Crowley’s body through his own. Aziraphale’s only saving grace was that Crowley didn’t seem to stop, not even once, for even so much as a breath. That didn’t seem to make it go any faster, but at least the worst of it was over. The thickest part of Crowley’s body had finally passed through Aziraphale’s throat to coil down on the bed beside him, but there was still more to go. Still more.  _ Always  _ more.

By this point, Aziraphale had stopped crying. Stopped caring. He’d felt the roll of Crowley through his body and tried to focus on anything but. The bulge in his stomach. The bulge that rolled up through his chest, to his throat. Just how stuffed full he was with  _ Crowley _ .

At least the pain had subsided. It was replaced with a numb ache that washed over Aziraphale’s entire body with a silent threat that he would pass out at any moment. He  _ wanted _ to pass out. He wanted all of this to be done. Over. Forgotten. He wanted to wake up in his own bed in his own bookshop where he was safe, warm, and this was all just a horrid dream.

The horrid dream ended when Aziraphale felt the very last tip of Crowley’s body leave his mouth. Crowley had managed to find his pleasure again, dragging himself through Aziraphale’s insides, and Aziraphale could feel the heaviness of his spend in places that it didn’t belong. But it didn’t matter. Aziraphale couldn’t even close his jaw, not with the way that Crowley had mangled it.

With the whole of Crowley settled nicely onto the bed, Aziraphale didn’t see a problem with fading out. After all, his entire body was throbbing with a pain he’d never experienced in his life. It was a reasonable thing to do, he thought, to let the black darkness take him for a moment.

Aziraphale woke up some thirty minutes later to a shaking. A panicked driven shaking in which his entire body moved with the force of it, and he remembered the painful  _ ache _ . It still hadn’t dissipated, even if his entire body suddenly felt free and open. Even after he’d realized that his jaw had been put back in place, fixed back together—his entire body still  _ ached. _ He could barely open his eyes, but when he did, he saw Crowley. Not the snake, but the wide panicked eyes of a man who’d realized what he’d done.

Even through the pain, Aziraphale tried to move away from Crowley. The pained, slow movement did nothing but wrench Crowley’s heart right out of his chest, and Aziraphale hadn’t even been able to move. The shifting had told him that he was  _ dressed _ , though. It was a funny thing, to feel the soft, familiar comfort of his cotton night shirt move against him. It was the sort of thoughtful thing that Crowley,  _ his  _ Crowley, would do. If would have been different if any other demon had attacked Aziraphale like that, but Crowley had done it.

“Aziraphale—” Crowley reached out for him, but when Aziraphale flinched, he pulled his hand back.

Aziraphale had never seen him so timid. So afraid. So  _ weak _ .

“I—I wasn’t myself,” Crowley tried. “I don’t know what came over me. I didn’t even  _ know _ . I tried—I tried, but I couldn’t—” no matter what words Crowley found, nothing seemed to be enough to explain this away.

Nothing could explain it away. Truthfully, Aziraphale didn’t want to hear any explanation that Crowley had. An explanation would erase the full-body ache that he was suffering. It wouldn’t erase the memory in his mind of the way that Crowley’s  _ entire  _ body had gone through his insides, left him stretched and pained and opened. No explanation would pretend that none of that had happened, and that Crowley had been the one to do it.

Crowley slumped over on himself. Aziraphale realized then that the sheets had been changed; all evidence that Crowley had  _ ever _ been a snake was gone. Even his eyes were shrunken down to yellow irises and big pupils, as human as Crowley could make them appear. It was like he was pulling in on himself to  _ hide.  _ It was Aziraphale’s turn not to care, though. Crowley deserved to feel like a sheepish worm for what he’d done. If only Aziraphale had the strength left in him to roll his back to Crowley.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley finally managed. “Hell did something to me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I should have tried harder. I—I hurt you.”

Aziraphale wished that the admittance of it would make him feel better, but it didn’t. Maybe it even made him feel  _ worse _ ; Crowley knew what he’d done. Like he’d watched it all out of his own body. But he still knew what he’d done. He’d done it.

“I can try to heal you. I’ve done some so far, but I can’t do anymore if I can’t touch you—”

“Don’t touch me,” Aziraphale replied immediately. His throat was raw and wrecked, but he managed the words through sheer force of will.

Crowley looked defeated, but he didn’t press. He didn’t touch Aziraphale. Instead, he pulled himself off the bed and walked out of the room.

Aziraphale was alone for what felt like a very long while. He couldn’t manage the energy to roll or to move, so all he did was stare at the open door and wait for Crowley to return. He knew that he shouldn’t care if Crowley returned. Crowley had just hurt him. Violated him.  _ Broken _ him. He should have wanted Crowley to get hit by a car. That just wasn’t Aziraphale’s styles. He didn’t have that kind of hatred inside of him, even if it felt appropriate.

He tried to think about everything that had come before. He tried to think about the times that Crowley had laid him down in a mound of pillows and  _ loved _ him. His touch had been so gentle, then. Crowley had kissed Aziraphale, had licked him, had trailed nips and caresses down his body until Aziraphale thought that he would burst with the awe that Crowley had for him. He thought about the times that they’d had lunch. Had drinks. Made love together on the sofa, on the floor, pressed up against the books in Aziraphale’s shop.

This had been  _ so _ different; it couldn’t have been Crowley who’d done that to him. Crowley had to have been telling the truth—that it was beyond his control. Aziraphale still should have wanted him to burn for what he’d done, but Aziraphale just clung to those pleasant thoughts and waited for Crowley to return.

Crowley did return, eventually, and he had a silver tray with him. On top of it was a glass of orange juice and the most exquisite looking breakfast crepe that Aziraphale had ever seen. There were smaller, more easily eaten things beside it. Alongside the juice was also just water, in case Aziraphale couldn’t stomach the acid.

“It’s close enough to morning for breakfast,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale looked between Crowley and the plate. Crowley looked like he was ready to bolt, and something in Aziraphale said that he didn’t  _ want _ Crowley to run away from him. This was Crowley. What had happened the night prior wasn’t Crowley—not really.

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.” Crowley started to pull away.

“I can’t move,” Aziraphale admitted. “Crowley,” his voice cracked, “I need help.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale with wide eyes. There was a long moment of hesitation before Crowley decided to trust Aziraphale’s words and shift closer. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but he was close enough to offer Aziraphale the first bite of crepe.

Aziraphale couldn’t contain his hum of pleasure. It was the most amazing crepe he’d tasted in some time. Really, since he’d been in France. Just after Crowley had rescued him from the Bastille, they’d gone for crepes. They had been the finest crepes Aziraphale had ever tasted, but this crepe matched up enormously well. Aziraphale ate the entire thing. He even ate the smaller bits of egg and sausage Crowley had made as a backup. Then, the water and the orange juice. Until the entire silver tray was clear of food, and Aziraphale felt a certain more pleasant sort of stuffed.

Afterward, Crowley dealt with the dishes and returned. When he did return, he just sat down on the edge of the bed and picked at his fingernails. It was the first time Aziraphale had ever seen Crowley look a state where he didn’t know what to do with himself. Aziraphale had the slightest twinge of fear that some, sick part of Crowley had  _ enjoyed _ what he’d done, but it was hard to find the truth of that in the worry in his eyes. Crowley didn’t tend to do things Aziraphale didn’t enjoy, anyway. Even if Crowley had enjoyed it, he wouldn’t dare do it again of his own free will.

“I think, in a bit,” Aziraphale croaked, “I might appreciate some of that healing.”

Crowley looked at him from over his shoulder and smiled. That at least sounded like a bridge, an invitation. Aziraphale hadn’t entirely forsaken him, even if he was angry. Even if he was upset or hurt, Aziraphale was still willing to give him a chance.

**Author's Note:**

> 𓆏  
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